Rock of Aegis
by EatYourRikkios
Summary: "Music gives a soul to the universe, wings to the mind, flight to the imagination and life to everything" - Plato. At an early age, music helped Amaryllis Potter take flight. fem!Harry
1. Chapter 1

**NOTES: First, just a few mentions for copyright purposes: _Doing the Best That I Can_ belongs to Stevie Nicks, 'Witch, witch, you're a bitch' belongs to Warner Brothers, from the movie _Practical Magic,__It's Still Rock and Roll to Me_ belongs to Billy Joel, and the _Harry Potter_ series belongs to that most wonderful of women, JK Rowling (rhymes with bowling.)**

**Second, no, the kids in Little Whinging don't _actually_ know about magic. They heard that Amaryllis is a 'freak' and 'evil,' and at the age of five, freak means spooky, and spooky evil things must mean witches. I only want to make that clear, in case it wasn't explained properly in-story. And if it wasn't - please, let me know! That way I can fix it and render this note unnecessary.**

"_I was silent I was locked away_  
_But I covered my tears_  
_Silent all day_  
_It's out of my hands here"_

.

"Witch! Witch! You're a bitch! Witch! Witch! You're a bitch!"

Amaryllis Potter covered her head with her arms as she ran from the other seven year olds. She held back tears as she ducked into the entrance to what she thought must be the library building. She ran down the hall and turned several times, until she wasn't able to say where she was anymore - after all, if _she_ wasn't absolutely sure where she was, how would the crummy rock throwers be able to find her?

After a minute or two of sprinting, the russet-haired girl found a set of double doors, like the ones to the library. She was mostly certain that the library wasn't in this part of the school, but maybe there was a different one for the big kids? She stood on her tiptoes to see inside, but someone had put paper over the windows, and she couldn't peek under it.

There was a squeak like wet trainers down the hall, and Amaryllis glanced over her shoulder nervously. Surely what was inside wouldn't be as bad as Dudley's gang. With a gulp, she pulled open one of the heavy doors and ducked inside, stopping just inside the doorway so it didn't close all the way – she may have to run again.

" . . . This isn't the library," she murmured to herself, looking around in confusion. Where was she, then? From what she could see by the lights in the corridor, the room was whitewashed, like all the classrooms at St Grogory's Primary School, but had tall wood-faced cabinets lining the back and left walls, a bit like the ones in the art room. It also had the same knotted rust red carpet as the library and main office, which generally wasn't seen much. Oddly shaped black . . . things were propped against the cabinets and walls, and an upright piano like the one in the Dursley's living room was just a few feet to Amaryllis' right.

It was also entirely empty. A perfect place to hide - and the cupboards would be just like the ones at Number Four. No one would look for her there, if they came in. At least she assumed so, anyway. Quietly as she could, Amaryllis closed the door behind her and flicked on the light. Not much looked different under the fluorescent lights as compared to the semi-darkness of a moment prior, when the only light had streamed in from the corridor through the open door, but Amaryllis could see one difference – what she had taken for another large shape-thing was in fact a paper-covered door, with shiny cut out letters spelling out the words 'DIRECTOR'S ZONE!'

What was a director's zone? Or a director, even? A bossy person? Maybe it was a word for teacher – they gave directions, after all, so that made sense.

Shrugging, Amaryllis strode over to the door and listened for a moment. It didn't sound like anyone was inside. Maybe she could hide in there until morning break ended? She turned the handle and poked her head in. Already lit from her turning on the switch in the other room, this one was . . . tiny. And a bit messy. And had lots of filing cabinets, one of which had its bottom drawer left pulled open.

Brilliant.

Curiously, Amaryllis walked over to the open drawer and pulled out one of the flat square things inside it. It had such a pretty picture on the front . . . And words, too, but they were funny looking, and against the loud background, they were hard to read without giving her a headache. She frowned at in and grabbed a different one, examining the photograph on the cover.

With a shrug, the girl flipped the heavy picture over in her hands, and was surprised when it flipped open to show a blank white inside and a pocket on the left. A round bit of black was sticking out of it. The little girl pulled open the edge and saw a shiny black disc. A record!

Amaryllis smiled softly, thinking of the ones Aunt Petunia played some days, when she wasn't watching one of her programmes and she'd given Amaryllis her list of chores. Amaryllis had never known where she had them; Aunt Petunia said it wasn't a freak's business to know. She pulled out the record carefully and looked around for a record player similar to the one her Aunt had near the fireplace.

Her shoulders sagged. There wasn't one in the office-like room. Maybe the bigger room outside had one? Nobody was in here, so she wouldn't get in trouble if she didn't get caught… Amaryllis scampered out and looked around - there it was! She grinned giddily and hurried over to the large player by the piano and set the record on the bench. Opening the lid carefully - she didn't know if she'd break it or not - she leaned the sleeve against the whiteboard and placed the record atop the player.

A few moments and some fiddling based on what she'd seen her Aunt doing before later and the sound of glass breaking blared, followed quickly by loud, upbeat music and lyrics. Amaryllis felt like her smile would crack her face in two.

" . . . _It's still rock and roll to me_  
_Oh, it doesn't matter what they say in the papers_  
_'Cause it's always been the same old scene_  
_There's a new band in town_

_"But you can't get the sound_  
_From a story in a magazine_  
_Aimed at your average teen . . . _"

Henry Jones blinked as he passed by his music room on his way to grab some coffee from the staff lounge before his class started. He hadn't left a record in the player had he? In that case, how had it started up with that finicky old player? Had he set it before he left the room and forgotten about it?

. . No, the album was barely ten minutes in, and he'd been gone for thirty, discussing Marlee's grades with Carol, her teacher this year. Coffee forgotten, the Primary School music teacher pulled the door open a crack, trying to see who was inside. It looked like a student - a year one or year two student, perhaps, judging by the little girls size once one looked past what appeared to be an older brother's hand-me-downs - was dancing around in front of the chairs to the music.

Henry couldn't hold back his smile; the girl looked very much like he probably had at that age. He'd been in love with music for as long as he could remember, and he'd been quite the exuberant child about it, too. Odd, considering how shy he was about everything else.

With an amused chuckle under his breath, Henry pulled the door fully open. The effect on the girl was immediate.

Red-brown hair whipped through the air when the door creaked, and oversized trainers tangled around the wearer's ankles, making the girl tumble into the chairs. Thankfully the music stands weren't out, so she likely wasn't hurt too badly – likely she'd just gotten a shock. Henry rushed forward and pulled the girl up, looking her over to be certain she was alright. "Are you okay?" he asked quickly.

The girl nodded solemnly, green eyes wide and frightened. Her arms were crossed tightly over her front, and her chin was practically glued to her throat, by all appearances. Dark russet hair fell into her face. The poor child was the very picture of fright - Henry felt terrible. Still, he nodded and tried to seem upbeat as he helped her up and brushed imaginary dust from her shoulders.

"Thank you," the tiny child whispered. Henry nodded, and led her over to sit on the piano bench while he stopped the record.

"You're welcome," he said, slipping the LP back into its sleeve. "I must say, very nice choice. Billy Joel is quite good, I think." He sat down across from the student on the other end of the piano bench. "So, what would you be doing in here? And who are you, exactly? Is your class nearby?"

The girl's arms stayed crossed, but she shook her hair back and at least looked at his torso rather than the wood grain of her seat. "I was running from some of the others when we were outside," she said quietly. It off-put Henry, who was used to his own boisterous students and his equally noisy sons and daughters. Even the most silent of children generally became louder in music class, from his experience. This was... strange, for him. Out of his element. The girl continued. "They were throwing rocks at me again, so I hid."

Before Henry could register the matter-of-fact tone in the girl's voice, she awkwardly thrust out her hand. "My name is Amaryllis Potter. How do you do?" she said, with a little bobbing half-curtsey. It was a frankly adorable example of manners, as taught by so many of his students' parents: by rote until one felt they had to do it for fear of grounding or some such punishment.

Henry had never had the best self-control on the planet. So it was no surprise to him that he laughed out loud as he grasped Amaryllis' hand and shook it. "Pleasure, Amaryllis. I'm Henry Jones, the music teacher here. You'll start taking my class about halfway through year three."

For some reason, Amaryllis seemed put out by this comment. "I _am_ in year three," she told him belligerently. "I'm just short." _Ah._

Henry smiled sheepishly. "Ah. Whoops . . ." he glanced around the room, and his eyes fell on the piano in front of him. "Say, your year should be outside for another half an hour. Do you know how to play the piano?" At the girl's head shake, he asked, "Well how would you like to learn?"

Amaryllis Potter's face lit up like a Christmas tree. "Yes! Er - Er, I mean, yes, I would, thank you, Mr Jones."

Her hair falling over her face as she ducked her head again did nothing to hide her excitement. Or her blush.

"Erm, can we – can we start now?"

**End Notes: Well, there we are! I'll be updating once a week for the foreseeable future, with a good amount (ten chapters) already written. This fic is essentially my baby, and I've been toying with it for the past year or so, on and off. It is … _very_ different from when I started out, I'll say that much. The original is probably going in an odd ideas file at some point.**

**Anyway, the only snag that I can see happening, posting-wise is my ship date being sooner than expected. Though that would require my recruiter to actually pick up the phone... Oh, well.**

**Please, tell me what you think, and Eat Your Rikkios!**

**9 October 2013 CE**


	2. Chapter 2

_"Friends will be friends,_  
_When you're through with life and all hope is lost,_  
_Hold out your hand cos right till the end -_  
_Friends will be friends._"

Amaryllis happily bobbed her head along to the music coming from the record player across the room, swinging her legs through the air from her bar stool seat while she waited for Marlee to come back so that they could finish up her homework. She was at Mr Jones' house, with his youngest daughter, Marlee, who was watching the younger girl for her relatives, as she often did. The Jones family, and Marlee in particular, had in the past three and a half years welcomed Amaryllis with open arms, and she spent quite a bit of time at their house on Bluebell Walk.

The Dursleys were happy to have such a cheap sitter as Marlee (£3.50 an hour), and the Joneses enjoyed having the girl around – she was a delightful child, fitting in very well with their little family. Amaryllis herself loved to come over and play on Henry's piano, or learn guitar from Marlee. Their eldest son, Leon, helped the girl quite a bit with her trumpet for music class at school – thanks to him, and Amaryllis' own musical talent, Henry very openly admitted that the child was one of the best musicians in her year.

Frankly, even without all that, Amaryllis would have loved escaping to the Joneses' home, because it meant at least that she wasn't always stuck at Number Four, with her relatives – not that she dared let the any of the Joneses' know. They'd realize she was a freak and send her away. It was better just to pretend.

So lost in her thoughts over the Jones' kindness was she, that Amaryllis didn't even notice Marlee come back down the stairs until the girl changed the record playing to one of her own, admittedly starting it about a third of the way into the album. Cyndi Lauper's _True Colors_ crooned from the record player, and Amaryllis jumped at the noise, making Marlee giggle.

"Very nice, Rilly. Absolutely fantastic." The taller girl hopped onto one of the other bar stools and leaned over the island counter, giving her charge's maths homework a cursory glance before asking, "So, how exactly can I translate this from Greek to English for you?"

Amaryllis rolled her eyes and flipped her notebook open to show Marlee her notes. "It isn't very hard," she commented lightly, not just a little proud of herself for understanding it. "Look, just multiplication. Besides, it's the last assignment of the school year, so it isn't _awfully_ important. It's really simple once you start remembering that the multiplication tables are all connected - seven twos is the exact same as two sevens.

"And remember the tricks and things your mum mentioned? With those you have the twos, the ones, the fives, nines, tens, and elevens. The rest is simple just remembering from then, or you can use the box method you showed me if nothing else . . ."

An hour and a half later, Mrs Jones had come home from her law firm to find the two girls sprawled over the olive green couch in the sitting - originally meant as a dining - room off the kitchen, chatting and plucking out a tune on Marlee's guitar from the book of sheet music lying open on the centre cushion. Something about a music school Amaryllis wanted to go to, so she could be a musician one day.

It was nice to see the younger girl planning; maybe that would rub off on her children, Leon, especially. Dreamy boy, his head ever in the clouds... The middle aged woman held back a laugh at the sight the two made, and patted her daughter on the lower back to get her attention.

Immediately Marlee leapt up from leaning over the back of the couch and was staring at her mother with wide eyes. "Mum! I - you see - am I in trouble? I completely helped Rilly with her homework and all before we goofed off, I swear!"

Amaryllis hid a smile behind her hand at her companion's antics, while the girl's mother shook her head. The two looked very alike – as much like siblings as any of her children did, with how much Amaryllis' hair had darkened over the years. It had gone from a dark auburn to an extremely dark chestnut colour, like her husband's, Marlee's and Leon's. She smiled at the duo, saying she just wanted the two girls to get Marlee's eldest sibling, Ava to come down from her attic bedroom and help with dinner. "Will you be staying for supper tonight, Amaryllis?" Mrs Jones asked.

The girl shook her head. "No, ma'am," she said. "Aunt Petunia said that I need to help with the garden for tomorrow, before the competition at the end of the summer."

"Call me Leanne, dear," Mrs Jones reminded gently. "With all the time you're over here, Mrs Jones gets tiring. Are you sure you have to go? I can call your Aunt to ask permission - you can't get very much outdoors work done at night, anyway, and it will be dark soon..."

Dark hair whipped around Amaryllis' face as she vehemently shook her head. "No, ma'am, its fine," she insisted. Leanne nodded, and smiled slightly as she sent the girls on their way upstairs. What a responsible little girl. She set her bag on the kitchen counter and began cutting up the chicken for dinner - thankfully her boys had remembered to get it out to defrost when they got home.

She bit her lip, thinking. She was happy that Amaryllis was becoming at least a little more assertive, now, but she worried. The child was so quiet, and never talked much about her family - all she really knew was that her cousin, that Dursley boy, didn't like her.

He didn't like Marlee, either for that matter, though they hadn't gotten as many calls from the school about the children fighting the past year or two, since Marlee was only at the Primary school for the first hour of the school day, while she helped her father and waited until it was time to walk to school. With her at Stonewall Secondary, she and the Dursley boy didn't have half as much chance to quarrel.

_Bah._ Leanne shook her head. She had to be reading into things too much. Amaryllis wasn't as boisterous as her own children, that was all. The girl was just quiet, and admittedly, a tad closed off. But she'd tell them if something was wrong at home – at the very least she'd tell Marlee, whom she looked up to, and her daughter would tell either her or her father.

She slid the chicken off the cutting board and into a bowl she pulled out of the cupboard closest to the refrigerator. Amaryllis was fine. Marlee had sat her overnight a few times before, and she hadn't had any strange marks on her then. Why was she worrying so much? Now. Where had she hidden the vegetables that morning so her children wouldn't find them…?

A half an hour later, Leanne smiled and shook her head at Marlee and Amaryllis' back-and-forth teasing in front of the stairs before Amaryllis started walking home. Independent little slip f a girl. There was nothing to worry about. There couldn't be.

"_Blackbird singing in the dead of night_  
_Take these sunken eyes and learn to see_  
_All your life_  
_You were only waiting for this moment to be free_"

"Up! Get up!" There was a loud _smack_ on the door to the cupboard under the stairs. "Girl! Get up! _Now!_"

Amaryllis winced at her aunt's voice, but didn't make a sound as she stood on her mattress and found the cord connected to her light by memory. The dim yellow bulb flickered faintly to life, and she knelt down again to get her clothes for the day from the small set of shelves beside her mattress bed.

The girl was quietly thankful that the stairs at Number Four turned at the landing the way they did – if they were like the ones to the attic and just went straight up, she'd only have room for her mattress. Aunt Petunia called her again, and she shook her thoughts away, quickly slipping a faded, shrunken sun dress that was once Aunt Petunia's over Dudley's old t-shirt and padded out into the hallway and from there, the kitchen.

Petunia had bacon in the frying pan, and was putting together what looked like a cinnamon bun cake in a bleach-white pie dish. Already knowing the routine, Amaryllis opened the refrigerator and pulled out the strawberries, eggs, bagels and cream cheese. There were only about eight eggs left - she'd have to tell her aunt that they needed to stock up before tomorrow morning's breakfast.

The two females didn't speak as they baked, fried, chopped and warmed things. Not a word was said until it was time to start setting up the table, and that was only an order from Petunia - "Remember to set out the good dishes for my Dudders' birthday!" The only sound was Amaryllis humming the song she'd been working on with Marlee, which Petunia seemed to ignore.

Amaryllis nodded, and set about making the table. Dudley's birthday, of course – there had to be a veritable breakfast feast for the little pig. The cinnamon bun cake sat in the centre of the table with a blue and white chequered cloth over it to keep it warm, and surrounding it were three bowls of sliced strawberries, two plates of bagels, both raisin and plain, a dish of cream cheese, scrambled eggs, and assorted glass jars of condiments. The nice china was set out on the wood grain of the table, and the silver silverware was set out with blue napkins.

Overall, it looked absolutely lovely, and Amaryllis knew her Uncle and cousin wouldn't even notice it. Too bad she couldn't take a photograph. She glanced at her aunt. The woman was checking her hair in the mirrored toaster, and left to get the male Dursleys a moment later. Amaryllis grabbed a bagel quickly and spread a little cream cheese on it before stuffing it in her mouth. She pinched a few strawberries and a bit of scrambled egg, stuffing them in the distorted and stretched pocket of the sun dress, wincing as she swallowed.

Maybe she should have eaten the berries and shoved the bagel in her pocket... She cleaned the knife she'd used for the cream cheese off on the hem of her oversized dress, rearranging the bagels slightly so that her aunt didn't notice she'd taken one.

She pulled a plastic cup down from a cupboard and leaned against the counter, sipping her water while she waited for her relatives to come down the stairs and eat breakfast. They did. She'd been right - Dudley only asked why his plate had a bird on it when Vernon's didn't, and made his father trade with him, then traded right back, loudly declaring that boys _did not_ have flower plates.

While Uncle Vernon chuckled, cuffing Dudley under the chin, Amaryllis rolled her eyes, and kept her mouth clenched shut while she picked up the empty serving dishes and offered her Aunt and Uncle coffee. How Dudley had already polished off half the bun cake she did not know, and she _definitely_ did not ask.

Amaryllis wasn't quite sure she wanted to know, even if she wouldn't have been in trouble for asking questions.

Her Uncle noticed she was there after his first cup of coffee and his second cup of tea. "Go get the mail," he said gruffly, nodding his head toward her and then the door to the hallway. Amaryllis nodded quickly, and set the coffee pitcher on the counter before happily hurrying out.

At the end of the hall, maybe four letters laid on the basket in front of the door. She picked them up and looked them over. The electric bill; a postcard from Vernon's sister Marge with a large parrot on it; what looked like an invitation to a garden party for Aunt Petunia, judging by the floral print on the envelope and… a letter for her?

Amaryllis' eyebrows furrowed. She didn't get letters. Ever. Marlee never had to send them, she always called when she couldn't sit, and Amaryllis never turned her books in at the library late, usually asked Marlee do it for her if she couldn't get away from Number Four long enough to turn them in. She had no reason to get rude notes from there, then, and besides which, she was fairly certain the library wouldn't spend extra money on, what was this, parchment? Whatever heavy paper it was. It looked expensive.

Uncle Vernon called for the mail again, and Amaryllis flinched. She had to think quickly if she wanted to keep her letter; she very much suspected that this was one of the things that, while unstated, _was not allowed_. Unlike stated rules, unspoken ones were much more dangerous to break, and usually made Uncle Vernon turn purple. Not safe at all.

But what could she do with… Oh! She slid the letter into her cupboard through the metal grate in the door, then scurried into the kitchen and handed the letters to her Uncle pretending to be utterly oblivious to her Aunt's suspicious stare.

She would _definitely_ be looking at that letter later.

**And here we are, the second installment of RoA! Sorry it was late – no real excuse, just busy forgetfulness. I'm going to aim for Fridays from now on, mostly because it's solid day for me to stick to, as opposed to the more generic 'some time once a week' I'd assumed before.**

**So, please, tell me what you think! I look forward to every review, follow or favorite – they brighten my whole day, all of them. Thank you, everyone that's read so far. I hope you like it.**

**And of course, remember to Eat Your Rikkios!**

**18 October 2013**


	3. Chapter 3

"_Walked out this morning_  
_Don't believe what I saw_  
_A hundred billion bottles_  
_Washed up on the shore_

_"Seems I'm not alone at being alone_  
_A hundred billion castaways_  
_Looking for a home"_

Unfortunately, Amaryllis didn't have a chance to read her letter until a few days later. She had been kept unusually busy by Aunt Petunia (which was saying something, considering Amaryllis' _normal _workload) during the past week; she kept on pulling open the letter, about to read it, even unfolding it twice, when her Aunt would call on her once more. It was like the woman was psychic all of a sudden!

The third time this happened, Amaryllis decided she'd best hide her letter before anyone else saw it, just in case her Aunt suddenly got curious. The turning stairs that dictated the shape of her cupboard helped with this – Amaryllis was the only one able to reach the farthest corner under the bottommost stair, after all.

Under that stair was where she kept everything important, everything she held most dear: her sheet music, painstakingly copied by hand from books at school or in the library, or else photocopied at school with change she'd found in the couch cushions; the ratty brown paper bag with all the other coins and random bank notes her uncle or cousin would leave in cushions, the car, the loose change dish in the hall or their laundry; precious broken toys and trinkets she'd stolen from the rubbish after Dudley threw them away, or the coat room the last day of school from the cubbies of the children that tormented her; broken crayons from the art room; glossy magazines scrounged from the rubbish bin, with articles about musicians she admired; and most importantly, her food.

Inundated with long periods of severely restricted or withheld food since before she could remember, Amaryllis had learned early on to hoard what she could, and under the bottommost step was the best place to stow it. A used soda bottle or two filled with water, a few vegetables, apples, a bag of crisps here and there, and she no longer had to wonder if she'd be dead of starvation or lack of water the next time her relatives opened her door.

Rarely, admittedly, was that a gripping concern, but she'd been locked up for long periods before, and it scared her to think that it could happen again. She never knw when something weird or bad would happen and she'd get blamed for it. Dudley had been in the Scouts for a few months before getting kicked out for beating up the troop leader's son. 'Be Prepared' was something Amaryllis had taken to heart after nicking some of the books from her cousin's second bedroom.

Back to the point, the corner under the bottommost stair was the perfect place to hide her letter until she could finally read it a week or so after the fact. When she did, she gripped the heavy paper so tightly that it nearly tore.

She was... she was a witch. Just like all the children at school said she was. Had any of the Dursley's had the slightest modicum of a sense of humor, she would have thought it a joke. As it stood, however?

A slow smile spread across her face, and she hugged the words to her chest. She was a witch! There was a witch school! _She could get away!_ She almost didn't want to believe it; she'd been called a witch before by her classmates, often, in fact. But from the letter… she wouldn't be the only one there. She might even find _friends_. Kids her age to play with, that liked her.

This was – it was – it was a _good_ thing, not awful like they made it (_her_) out to be. It was wonderful!

Crawling about the small space, Amaryllis swept over the floor with her hands to find a spare bit of paper – aha! There it was, her maths notebook, stacked with her other school things by the pillow near the door. It still had a few blank pages in the back. She carefully tore out a perforated page, making sure that it didn't tear or wrinkle.

Thankfully, she hadn't done anything to warrant her relatives taking away the light bulb hanging from the stairs, so she could see this week. Squinting in the dim light, she began to scratch out a reply in her best cursive (so much more legible than when they'd started learning last year.)

'_Dear Miss Deputy Headmistress McGonagall,_' she wrote, hoping that she got it right; what if they decided that she was too stupid to go to Hogwarts? She couldn't write her letter wrong, just in case. She didn't have enough paper that she could rewrite it much if she bollixed it up.

_'Thank you very much for accepting me at Hogwarts. I hope this letter gets to you in time, as I don't exactly know how I will send it, considering I don't have an owl.' _

Pausing, Amaryllis considered what to write next before writing it in parenthesis – after all, her teacher said that it was like the words weren't there if they were in parenthesis, but you still got to say what you wanted to in them. '_(By the way, is owl code for something? Or are owls like magical messenger pigeons?) However, I really hope it gets to you on time. Also, where should I buy my school supplies and uniform?_

_Again, thank you very, very much for accepting me at your school, and I really hope I'll do well there. I am wondering, however, if there are any scholarships for Hogwarts? If so, how do I apply for them? Thank you._

_Yours Really, Really Extremely Sincerely,_

_Amaryllis Potter_'

Letting out a long breath, Amaryllis folded her letter into thirds and slipped it into her notebook; she would have to nip into her Uncle's desk when she cleaned his and Aunt Petunia's room in a couple of days. She could hide it in her pocket and then slip it into her cupboard after.

As it turned out, her Aunt needed her to clean her and her Uncle's room earlier than she expected, for some garden party or other. How that made sense, she had _no_ clue. Why would the garden party ladies be in her relatives' rooms? But she wasn't about to complain. Her Uncle had a box of envelopes on his desk, and it wasn't hard to nick one when no one was around to see her.

Surprisingly, it didn't take long after Amaryllis had stuck the addressed envelope _('Hogwarts School, United Kingdom, Europe, Presumably Earth_,' since that seemed to be how witches and wizards addressed things, and she didn't want to seem stupid_)_ into the mailbox for her to get a reply back. That came a day or two later.

It was not, however, from Miss Deputy McGonagall, as Amaryllis had thought it would be. Instead, in the mail, she found a small, white square, an invitation-type envelope like Aunt Petunia got for garden parties, addressed to her in a spiky scrawl. It was sealed with dark green wax, and Amaryllis had stuffed it into her apron pocket before handing the bills and postcards to her Uncle, easily meeting her Aunt's predatory gaze.

Not too long before she'd be gone, anyways.

Later that day Amaryllis had plenty of chance to open and read the letter, as her Aunt and Uncle had taken Dudley out to a theme park for the day, to have family time before 'Popkin' went off to Smeltings. They'd left a list of chores on the refrigerator, telling her to scrub down the kitchen, the hallway, to mow the lawn and weed the flowers before they got back. She felt lucky it was such a light load; otherwise she would've had to run about like mad just to finish before her relatives came back. As it was, she propped the letter up behind the tap to read while she washed the dishes, humming a new song idea under her breath.

'_Miss Potter,_

_A representative of Hogwarts School shall meet you at Charring Cross Road in London at noon, the 3__rd__ July, in front of Bentley's Music Shop. _

_If desired, your relatives may attend. Keep in mind, however, that overtly magical objects are forbidden in Muggle households. To buy them would be a waste, as they would be confiscated by the Ministry, with no monetary compensation whatsoever, and possibly including a fine for their possession and possible use in either breaking the Statute on Secrecy or Muggle baiting._

_Do not be late. Do not wander from Bentley's Music Shop should you arrive early and find yourself waiting for the representative. Do be prepared to spend the day in its entirety in the city acquiring your supplies. Ensure you have transport to your domicile at the day's end, as it shall not be provided for you._

_Sincerely,_

_Severus Snape_  
_Potions Master at Hogwarts_'

Amaryllis' eyes slid toward the miscellaneous things drawer where Uncle Vernon would often drop loose change and small bills as an uncounted 'back up fund' to buy cigars and alcohol without Aunt Petunia seeing it on the books. Instead, it got listed under 'extra' or 'backup' money in the budget.

Money under that heading usually went to Dudley, for sweets and things. Uncle Vernon never counted what was in the drawer, though he gave Dudley a stern talk if he looked in and didn't see an acceptable amount, ensuring that if Petunia asked how much there was inside, he could honestly answer that he had no idea.

She could lift seven pounds for train fare easily. Enough for a ticket back, too. That would leave the loose change she'd gotten (really, she ought to count it at some point) for buying school supplies, assuming she could get a scholarship.

No way would she be able to filch enough to pay for tuition to some boarding school, she wasn't thick enough to consider it, let alone count on the idea. Amaryllis glanced at the wall clock and sidled over the drawer, carefully pulling it open and digging around for change. There were a few fivers and single pound notes inside as well, and she pocketed a small number of them, not wanting them to be (unlikely thought _that_ was) noticed.

Almost unable to believe she'd done it, it was so much different than rummaging through laundry and couches, Amaryllis scrambled to her cupboard and shoved the money as far from the door as she could, where it would never be seen by her relatives, under the bottommost stair. They wouldn't take it back; they couldn't keep her from leaving. They couldn't!

They couldn't. Breathing heavily, with an odd giddiness rising in her belly, Amaryllis hummed under her breath as she walked calmly back to the kitchen, and continued to clean.

She was going to really be a _witch!_

"_We've got to search each other's minds_  
_We've got to read between the lines_  
_Oh, take a different look_  
_And make our hearts an open book_  
_Oh, you can't judge a book by its cover"_

Severus raised a disbelieving brow at his boss. "You want me to escort _whom_ to Diagon Alley?" he asked in disbelief.

His employer did not seem to realize how extraordinarily horrid an idea this was. "Miss Potter, Severus," Albus said cheerily, sipping his lemon tea. Snape's lip curled; he knew from experience that what the Headmaster drank hardly counted as such – it was far too sweet, practically lemonade. Disgusting. The aged wizard looked down at a sheet of Muggle notebook paper.

"From her letter, she hasn't been introduced to our world yet; I had assumed Petunia would inform her, but I fear I was mistaken." He looked up, and Severus bit back a snarl at the man's sadly twinkling blue eyes. Damn. "She has inquired as to scholarships. You may wish to take her to Gringotts; I am uncertain her relatives will be able to pay for her education, if this letter is anything to go by."

Severus rolled his eyes, and stepped forward, reading the letter upside down rather than be bothered to pick it up from the desk. The words were eager, certainly, and not unintelligent; perhaps overly diffident, but on the whole, more than he would have expected from the Potter brat. Perhaps Lily's genetics had had some influence, after all.

Still, the fact remained that he shouldn't be lined up to escort students this year. The Heads of Houses split the duty biannually; there was no reason for him to be involved with the first years this term, beyond teaching the snot nosed little brats.

"Indeed." he drawled. "Albus, _why_ isn't Pomona escorting the child, or Minerva? Filius and I are supposed to be free from the little miscreants this summer."

Of course his employer had an answer. "It appears we have quite the influx of Muggleborns and Muggle raised students this year, my boy," the old man said cheerily.

"Pomona and Minerva are escorting all the students they can, but we hadn't expected Miss Potter to need the assistance – no one is available to take her but you and Hagrid. I suppose, however, if you think it wiser for him to introduce her to our world..."

Hagrid was out of the question, and the dour man sighed heavily. A gentle giant he may be, Hagrid would intimidate an eleven year old, and was hardly the impression the school needed to give to anyone's Muggle guardians of their world, even if they did already know about magic.

In another universe, he may have chosen differently, had he not been able to read the girl's letter, or had he stayed at home for the day rather than being late (having learnt, that Halloween, that it was in fact far better never than too late).

However, those were mere possibilities; in this world, Severus nodded his head, and began planning the letter he would send the Potter girl, telling her where to meet him.

Best contact Gringotts, as well, to locate her key; he knew that the Potters had left everything to their daughter, so he assumed the accounts had been in the goblins' care until now. He would need to inform them that the girl was returning to their world this year. It wouldn't do for the Potter accounts to stay frozen – the payment for Potter's schooling would bounce, thus cutting into his pay check, which was undesirable.

On that note, he ought to have the girl meet him at Bentley's; he knew the owner, a cheerful Muggleborn witch that had been in the year below him in Slytherin. She'd married an old Muggle friend of hers a few years after graduation, and the two of them and their son ran the record store beside the Leaky Cauldron. It would be a relatively easy place in which to locate the girl, being rather small, and easier than hoping she found the inn on her own.

The Potion Master hurried back to his lab – if his Pepper Up had boiled over due to Albus calling him in, the alchemist could figure out how to brew this school year's supply him_self._

**Note: … *totally didn't update a Tuesday late* Hypothetically speaking... yeah... no excuse. Er, how about that sports team?**

**Slinking away now...**

**29 October 2013... 11:37 PM.**


	4. Chapter 4

"_I'm on my way from misery to happiness today_  
_I'm on my way to what I want from this world_  
_And years from now you'll make it to the next world_  
_And everything you receive up yonder_  
_Is what you gave to me the day I wandered"_

Amaryllis was... _wired_. She fidgeted in her seat anxiously, and could hardly contain her excitement. She was going to London! She'd never left Little Whinging before. The farthest she'd been in... well, _ever_, was the library down the way, when her Aunt had dropped her there for the day while she went shopping with friends. And now, here she was, on the early train to London to buy her school things so she could be a _witch_.

She was on a train ride to London!

It was amazing, and Amaryllis didn't quite know what of think of it. All too soon (after far too long?), the train pulled in, and Amaryllis gleefully drank in the sights of the city, clutching her school letter and a map of the city tightly in her hands. There were a number of book shops, she noticed, several of them selling used titles, which she was glad for; perhaps she could buy some for herself later?

She shook her head. Before she got ahead of herself, she had to talk to the representative about a scholarship. If she couldn't get that, there would be no point in any of this. It wasn't like her relatives would be willing to pay for it, after all.

Oh, but she was so _excited!_

Glancing down at the scratched face of Dudley's old watch on her wrist, Amaryllis noted that she had an hour before the Hogwarts representative showed up. She glanced longingly at the display window for Bentley's Music Shop. Well, the Potions Master's letter _had_ said not to wander away from it. Inside wasn't away...

Nodding with conviction, Amaryllis ran inside, face lit up like it was Christmas for Dudley. The music store wasn't huge, but it had _lots_ of things inside it. There were rows upon rows of records, boxes of cassettes, stacks of CDs, instruments lining the walls, endless music sheets... And they had _trumpets!_ Giddy, Amaryllis scurried toward them.

They'd started learning to play an instrument in year four, and Amaryllis had loved the trumpet from the start, with Leon's willingness to help her get better only encouraging that. She glanced around cautiously before carefully picking it up. The brass gleamed, and she _so_ wanted to play. She fingered the leadpipe longingly before replacing it on the shelf with a faint sigh. Imagine, her someday playing the trumpet, or the piano… in front of a giant crowd, with everyone swaying in time while she played. A grin lit her face, and Amaryllis ducked her head, beginning to thumb through the boxes of sheet music.

Some forty five minutes later, she looked up from the piano, which the shop owner had, amazingly, let her play (after giving her a very strange look, peering at Amaryllis' fringe-covered forehead oddly when she introduced herself) for a bit, to see a tall, dark haired man with a hooked nose staring at her. He nodded in greeting when she stood up from the piano bench, holding out a hand. "Miss Potter. I am Professor Severus Snape; I assume you are ready to leave?"

Amaryllis wasn't entirely sure it had been a question, but answered it anyway. "Yes, Sir," she nodded. "Just, erm, Sir – I need to know about scholarships." She ducked her head down, fiddling with the hem of her long, second-hand school skirt. "I-I don't think my relatives woul–_can _pay for boarding school."

She glanced back up to see the man – Professor Snape - raise an eyebrow at her. "Follow me," he ordered, and she ducked her head again, following behind.

Severus was... unimpressed with the much exalted Girl Who Lived. Where had Dumbledore _sent_ the brat? The child was wearing what appeared to be a rather shoddy, if meticulously clean, primary school uniform. Her stockings were deplorable, with the left too short and the right's elastic stretched so that it pooled around her ankles. A boy's uniform shirt, a size too large, was tucked in to an unhemmed skirt fraying as it fell mid-calf. The only things that seemed to be the proper size were her scuffed Mary Janes, and he thought he saw electric tape, rolled around the toes to hold her soles in place.

He had assumed the child was being raised by Lily's sister, Petunia, thinking the idea confirmed from Albus' words when he sent Severus after the child. He knew that the woman – and he used that term loosely – had married well, and from what he had seen when she babysat around their neighbourhood growing up, was prone to spoiling and pampering those in her care.

Even if she and the pig-man she had married (he remembered his disgust when he saw the two parading around the neighbourhood on their soppy little dates the summer after his sixth year, showing off Petunia's ridiculous engagement ring) had divorced her, Severus doubted she would have failed to find some other decently well-off sod to sink her claws into. Failing that, he doubted the pig-man, Durham or whatever his name was, had realized the benefits a pre-nuptial agreement would have had for him, considering his bride.

Barring the Potter brat having been raised by them, he had thought it would be some deluded Wizarding couple, with both options leading to some arrogant, snotty brat. The former, however, had been confirmed – so why in Merlin's name was she dressed so poorly? He would have been unsurprised to find her a Weasley, if not for the darker hair. Had Petunia sent the girl off to foster care, to be a ward of the Crown?

He couldn't think what to make of it, yet. It seemed as if an answer, a reason for her looks and demure behaviour, was just beyond his reach, but skittering out of sight every time he came close to it. How… frustrating.

The girl appeared obviously poor, judging by her clothes, yet she was polite – her manners were similar to what Lily's had been as a child, very respectful right off the bat, though more... reserved. Lily had been exuberant, emotion ever bubbling just beneath the surface, whereas her daughter was – not. This struck him as odd, as he'd spent some time watching her play at the music shop, engaging other patrons and seeming perfectly at ease to be the centre of attention, entirely entranced by her own playing.

He simply wasn't sure what to make of it. The Potter child was not what he had expected, neither acting as Potter's spawn, nor Lily's child. He wasn't sure how to think of her if she wasn't one or the other.

Oh, for Mordred's fucking sake – it didn't matter, anyway. This was Lily's child, and he would keep his word to protect her, no matter how weird she may be. For now, he would treat her as any prospective Muggleborn student, with the first stop being Gringotts bank. He told her as much.

"Gringotts is the Wizarding bank," he said briskly, leading Potter through the Leaky and toward the towering white building. "It serves most of Europe, some parts of Africa, the Americas, and Australia. It is run by goblins; I highly suggest you do not displease them, and I will expect you to be courteous at all times," he informed the wide-eyed girl, who was turning her head every which way to try and see everything that she could of the magical shopping district. How quaint.

"I very much doubt you are in need of a scholarship, however, as I have been reliably informed that your parents deposited the tuition for your first five years of education upon registering you for Hogwarts. This can be referenced in your banking history; merely inform the teller what you wish to know, and a detailed account will be provided for a nominal fee. Here," he handed her the key Dumbledore had given him, "is your vault key. It was left in care of the Headmaster upon your parents' passing."

The girl looked confused. "Why?" she asked curiously.

Severus raised an eyebrow. "No idea. I would assume that as your godmother was rendered insane shortly after your parents' deaths, and your godfather imprisoned, the Headmaster took possession of your key in his authority as Chief Warlock to prevent any, ah, _unsavoury_ characters from illegally accessing whatever your parents left you. It was not uncommon at the time; the War left many orphaned."

She was gaping. How unbecoming. "You mean – my parents – they left me something? I thought that when they died –"

"Don't be foolish," Severus snapped. "Your parents didn't keep their savings in the _house_."

"They had savings?" the brat squawked, causing a hunch-backed witch to look over at them on her way to a queue.

Mordred and Morgana, this was becoming annoying. "Everyone had savings at that time," he explained, patiently as he could. Judging from her hunched shoulders, this was not gently enough. _Children_. "It was at the height of the Death Eater War, and even those that couldn't afford to hoard their Knuts did so in the event that they had to flee the country, should the tides turn against their side."

Apparently he had confused her. "Nuts? War? What's a Death Eater? Sir, my parents died in a _car smash_ because they were _drunk._"

Severus' neck cracked with the speed at which he turned to stare at the girl. The other customers waiting for a teller blinked slightly at the exchange. "I beg your pardon?" he asked in a low, dangerous tone. He did not like the implications of this. He did not like them at all. _Who_ were the girl's guardians, and _why_ had they lied so heinously? Surely Petunia would never lie about – no. Of course she would. It was _'Tuney.'_ She _lived_ on lies, enjoyed them as a game. She always had. Severus took a careful breath, quickly letting his face fall into an even expression.

The girl visibly gulped at his outburst, but did not answer, ducking her head once more. Severus' lips pressed into a tight line. "I shall explain later, after we have left the bank," he said in a tight, controlled voice. The child nodded minutely. "This is not a discussion to be held in public."

After requesting her banking records and an inordinately long time being informed of the state of her finances in a private meeting with a finance goblin, the child returned, looking distinctly overwhelmed, to be taken to her vault. Severus sighed.

He hated explaining things; he would need to point out the Muggleborn pamphlets to the girl when they bought her school books. In fact, he decided, that should be their second stop, after acquiring her school trunk, so they would have a place to store her purchases. He certainly wasn't carrying them. Robes could wait; he wanted the informational part of this done and out of the way.

Amaryllis was overwhelmed.

She had requested her banking records from the teller like the Professor had suggested, and the goblin, Catchaxe, had seemed a perfectly normal banker until she had handed him the key the Professor gave her, at which point he had ushered her to an office room wherein an old, shark-toothed goblin had informed her that as the last of the line, she was to inherit the Potter _lordship_ upon turning thirteen, and two inheritances – something about a defeat (did the Goblin really mean her? Maybe goblins spoke a different language, and he meant to say her mother, or her parents together, before they died in that car smash, but just got his words mixed up) of a Dark Lord, full with capitals, ten years ago leading to people gifting her with large sums of money, which she really didn't understand – and something about being listed as secondary heiress to a Black family?

It was utterly _confusing_.

Finally the old goblin let her leave with a booklet explaining everything he had told her, and a recommendation to 'owl' the bank when she had reached a decision.

The wizarding world was very confusing, she thought, as she and the Professor took an underground roller coaster to her vault. Which was huge. And had – Holy Mother, were they _real_ gold coins? No way! Amaryllis hesitantly scooped a few handfuls (handfuls! She had _handfuls_ of golden coins! And silver! And bronze! Bloody _handfuls!_) of the coins into a leather bag the goblin escorting her and Professor Snape, Griphook, had handed her.

This was too much, she thought dazedly as the Professor lead her to a book shop, steering her toward a secluded area with chairs and an old-fashioned lamp that vaguely reminded Amaryllis of Mrs Figg. Nothing could shock her more than... than a lordship and a vault of gold. Nothing.

Blinking at the thought of it all, a line from a song came to mind, and she couldn't help but sing it under her breath. "_Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy? Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality…_" The Professor glanced at her, but said nothing.

Staring at him nearly half an hour later, she rescinded her prior statement.

Amaryllis had been wrong. Compared to what Professor Snape was telling her, the gold and the goblins and the fancy words and freaking _lordship_ had been almost nothing. Her parents, he said, had been a witch and wizard, people with magic, like her. Well, not quite like her; they had fought in a secret army against an evil wizard, the Dark Lord Voldemort, called He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named or You-Know-Who by most people, and died protecting her.

They neither drank nor owned a car. Her mother was an Auror, had been in a dual apprenticeship for Charms and Ancient Runes, in hopes of becoming a professional Spell Crafter, 'when all this fighting ends,' and her father had been a Transfigurations Reversal Specialist at St Mungo's, the wizarding hospital, and a tactician for the Light, who had fought against the Dark Lord.

Needless to say, Amaryllis was floored. To top all of that – her entire conception of her parents turned on its head – apparently _she_ was famous, because she had survived the attack on her family, something unprecedented in the latter end of the Death Eater War, when Voldemort and his army ruthlessly murdered every family with a child born in the Summer half of the year after 1979. Moreover, she had survived the night he had _died_.

After her parents had been killed, neither hide nor hair had been seen of the Dark Lord, however. Apparently, he had been defeated, his wand almost all that remained of him on the floor of her nursery. Most people, the Professor told her, weren't sure if it had been because of her or her parents – the dour wizard snorted at the idea of it being any great power on the part of toddler – but still... _This_ was almost certainly too much.

Amaryllis had dreamed of being famous, of course. For almost as long as she could remember, since she had first sat at that piano with Mr Jones, she had dreamed of becoming an amazing musician, a fantastic performer that made people happy, that wrote beautiful songs that people _felt,_ instead of just heard. She wanted so _hard_ to be one of the musical Greats, capital 'G' and everything.

She was determined to achieve that; it was why she worked so hard in school, despite how upset it made her relatives for showing up Dudley, and the punishments that followed their displeasure, which led to her working that much more to make up for the work she had missed because of them.

She wanted to go to school to learn music, to learn how to perform and engage people. To experience different music so that she could make her own, for everybody. She knew she'd need good grades for that, and scholarships to pay for it. Never in a thousand years had she expected that she was already famous. Her. _Famous_.

Famous for – living? For having dead parents? For a psycho killer dying the same night he blew up her family's house? It made Amaryllis' head hurt, and she quietly asked the Professor if she could be excused to go get her textbooks. He nodded solemnly, telling her that he would get 'Muggleborn pamphlets' for her to help explain the wizarding world. She agreed and ran away, trying to process everything and to not think at the same time. This was all so – so confusing!

Amaryllis followed Professor Snape in a daze as he lead her from the luggage shop, her new school trunk dragging over the cobbled street behind her, trying to reconcile everything in her mind.

Once they reached the book store, the Professor disappeared and she began going through the stacks of books to get the ones she needed for school, trying her best to distract herself by becoming absorbed in what she read. She considered: her schooling was paid for by her parents before they died, at least until – fifth year, he had said. She had apparently inherited money, or was set to in the next two or three years, on top of the mind boggling amount of money the old goblin had told her she'd been sent after the Dark Lord died.

This meant she could afford to get things like books and music. Things she was never able to have at the Dursleys. If she could just hide them from her relatives, she'd be alright. She just had to make sure she kept enough to pay for food, and school after fifth year, and soap and a bed and the like. She couldn't waste it – she didn't know what exactly Hogwarts cost, and she didn't want to have to leave because she didn't have the money to finish her last two years.

Grinning, Amaryllis began checking the backs of her textbooks for reference material, and began looking through the listed titles, picking out the most interesting of those mentioned for reference in a few of her subjects – the ones whose textbooks looked the most difficult – to look for later, at a charity shop. She liked books, but she didn't want to spend a lot. What if she ended up buying too much and couldn't get her school things, or go to Hogwarts after fifth year? No, it was better to buy second hand things – they'd still be nicer than anything she got from her relatives.

She also made note of four other books on subjects that looked interesting – there were several. On the more academic side of things, _Ancient Runes Made Easy_ had a variety of interesting glyphs and symbols on its cover, was witty, and easily explained how to make magic with different 'runes,' or magical alphabets – even Egyptian hieroglyphics. There was also _The Healer's Helpmate_, which made her smile, thinking that maybe her parents had once read it, too, maybe even learned from the plethora of charms and potions listed inside it.

Equaly interesting were _The Tales of Beedle the Bard,_ filled with wizarding fairy stories that made Amaryllis sigh and wonder if her parents had once read them to her, and _Composium, or Enchanters of the Ears: A Compendium of Wizarding Composers and Musicians,_ which Amaryllis was fascinated by, thinking of what the wizarding world's music must be like, and that had music enchanted into its pages so that when you placed your finger to the name of a musician or a song, it played the music.

Smiling softly to herself, Amaryllis simply wondered at the whole new world around her. This was brilliant!

However, all things end, and Amaryllis soon found herself at the front counter to purchase her books with the Professor, who raised an eyebrow at the nine titles scrawled on her arm and the back of her hand with a biro she'd had in her pocket, but did not comment, merely handing her a thick stack of brightly illustrated pamphlets to look over.

She blinked at them dumbly for a moment before the two of them sat down for a late lunch at a café with brightly coloured umbrellas over the tables outside. Amaryllis was eager to try wizarding food, but after seeing the receipt from Flourish and Blott's, immediately ordered the cheapest food she could find on the menu. She was beginning to feel tremendously guilty for how much money she had spent, and there were still her other supplies to get.

Chewing on her top lip nervously, she read over the pamphlets, feeling very glad to have them, both for the information and the distraction. They went over the Death Eater War the Professor had mentioned, laws and wizarding customs to be aware off, and lots of other helpful things.

Afterwards they set about getting her school supplies, and Amaryllis insisted on getting her robes second hand – she didn't know of anyone who needed to get measured for normal clothes after all, and it wasn't like she was all curvy and grown-up looking, she could fit into a second-hand robe just fine, thanks – and very quickly, the two of them found themselves getting her many listed school things.

There was so much to look at! Amaryllis was listing things on her arms with a biro the entire time, so she'd remember to look at them again later, until they finally reached the end of the exhausting shopping excursion, with only her wand left.

The sun was setting as Professor Snape escorted her into Ollivander's with a scowl on his face, and Amaryllis glanced curiously about the shop. It was narrow and rather shabby, with peeling gold letters over the door reading 'Ollivander's: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BCE' and a single wooden wand with a gemstone at the pommel lying on a faded purple cushion.

A bell tinkled from the depths of the store as they entered. It smelled musty, like old books and cedar wood, and she didn't see anyone about the place. Amaryllis craned her neck, stepping further inside to try and see the clerk, while the Professor, oddly, hung back, near the door.

"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. Amaryllis cringed and stiffened, turning slowly to look around at a frail old man with large silvery eyes that shone like moons in the dim light of the wand shop.

"Good afternoon, Sir," she said quietly, smiling slightly at the man, who smiled back. "Are you Mr Ollivander?"

"I am he, Miss Potter. I did think that I would be seeing you here soon. Amaryllis Potter." It was not a question. "You have your mother's eyes, but your grandfather Charlus' hair. It seems only yesterday that they were in here buying their first wands. Ten and a quarter inches long, for your mother, swishy, made of willow. I recall it was very good for charm work and healing. She made very good use of it, in her short time on this plane. Your grandfather instead held acacia, twelve and a half inches, with a dragon heartstring core. Powerful, tricky: very good for complicated, subtle magic."

Ollivander moved closer to Amaryllis, and peered very closely into her eyes, making her somewhat nervous. He had yet to blink. "Your father, on the other hand, favoured a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favoured it — it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."

The old man reached out a frail, papery-skinned finger to brush aside Amaryllis' fringe, revealing the thin lightning bolt scar on her forehead. "And that's where..." He shook his head. "I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it. Very powerful. Yew. Thirteen and a half inches. Phoenix feather core. It's wizard..." he abruptly shook himself, straightening a little and beginning to bustle about his shop. "Well, now – Miss Potter. Let me see."

And so Amaryllis was measured by a long silver ream of seamstress' tape, and tried wand after wand until finally, _finally_, one sparked. A bright, starry little shower of purple and gold. _Holly, twelve and a quarter inches, phoenix feather core._

Brother wand to Voldemort's. The man that killed her parents. And tried to off her, too.

The old man muttered to himself, calling it curious, ever so curious, before he finally phoenix whose tail feather resided in her gave one other, and just the one. To the yew wand that Voldemort matched. And then the man disappeared behind a tatty mauve curtain to a back room. She and Professor Snape eyed each other and the shop silently, waiting for Ollivander to return.

Return he did, carrying a dark purple cuff-like object out to her. It was some odd cross between snakeskin and leather, and it shined faintly in the dusty light. Amaryllis stared at him for a moment before taking it, and was abruptly taken aback when Ollivander told her solemnly that she would need it; for the wand chose the wizard, and a wand never lied. Great things would come – perhaps terrible, he said, but great. She would need to be prepared.

And then he disappeared behind his mauve curtain again, only charging her the price of her wand.

Amaryllis was _so_ confused. She turned to the Professor in silent question as they left the shop.

The dark haired man had merely pinched the bridge of his nose, the very picture of the long-suffering teacher. "It is a wand holster, Miss Potter – do try and learn to read over the summer. Perhaps then you won't have so many inane questions."

It was only after they stopped in at the Leaky Cauldron for food, and had sat down with their soups, that Amaryllis realized what they had forgotten – she hadn't a telescope. It had been _right there,_ on a display rack by the brass scales, and she'd completely forgotten to grab one!

When she blurted this out, eyes wide and obviously distraught, the Professor had closed his eyes in dissatisfaction, apparently calming himself before speaking. "You did not buy it with your phials, then?" he asked. She nodded slowly, and he breathed out heavily through his nose. "All the shops will be closed by this time, but for the restaurants. We may be able to pick one up elsewhere, however… At what time shall your family expect you to return home tonight?"

He frowned severely when Amaryllis shrank into herself with a tiny shrug, not really wanting to think about the Dursleys. "My relatives probably don't care, sir; any time would be fine," she said quietly, eyes flicking up at him nervously when his frown deepened and a wrinkle appeared between his eyebrows.

"Very… well. I shall escort you to your relatives' home tonight, and tomorrow you may direct them to the Leaky Cauldron and from there, Gambol and Jape's to buy your accursed telescope. Should you need it, information on how to summon the Knight Bus will be found in the violet pamphlet marked 'Transport.' You may use it to get to the Alley. I trust that this will be acceptable?"

It wasn't a question, Amaryllis knew. "Yes, Sir."

"Good. Follow me."

The dark haired girl did, gripping her trunk tightly in one hand and giving Mr Ollivander a strained smile as she was led from the shop. Her other hand found its way across her middle to hug herself. The Professor led her down the street and into a cleared area. "Grasp my arm." A pause. "Tighter," he told her when she hesitantly touched his sleeve. She fisted the cloth, and he sighed, adjusting her grip to his satisfaction before grabbing her shoulder and turning on his heel.

Amaryllis felt as though she was being spun very fast through a long, thin straw and her eyes stung, even though she was sure she'd closed them.

And then, it was over. Amaryllis felt herself crash to the pavement, her left arm caught under her and, with her right palm, bearing the brunt of the cement's displeasure at being fallen on. She scrambled to her feet, frantically straightening her clothes, terrified at what her Aunt might say if she saw Amaryllis had ruined her best things. The Professor stood silently, and she looked at him cautiously. Was he going to be upset that she'd been so clumsy, or…?

But the man didn't say anything. Perhaps, Amaryllis thought nervously, he didn't mind? But that thought didn't fit what she knew of grown-ups, and she threw it away almost as soon as she had it. He must have just decided berating her wasn't worth the effort. Gulping, she straightened her shoulders and picked up her trunk.

The Professor nodded, and the two of them walked out of the alley between Wisteria Walk and Magnolia Crescent, heading down the lane toward Privet Drive, Amaryllis' stomach dropping farther and farther toward her feet with each step. It was getting dark, dinner would surely have passed. Oh, Uncle Vernon would be so _angry_…

Far too soon for her taste, they reached Number Four, and the Professor was knocking at the door. Uncle Vernon answered it, brandy snifter in hand, and he forced a smile as he took in the sight of Amaryllis and the Professor on his doorstep. Amaryllis let out a breath. She was in _so_ much trouble. What had she been _thinking?_

"Good evening," Professor Snape said stiffly, eying the brandy with a curl of his lip, and Amaryllis thought for a moment he must be upset at Uncle Vernon, before realizing he was upset at bringing her here. He was a wizard, after all – he was probably uncomfortable around Muggles. She felt bad for making him have to drop her off. "I am the Potions Master at Miss Potter's –" he pushed her forward, "– school. She had procured most of her supplies with me today, and shall only need an escort tomorrow morning to buy her telescope. She can direct you. I wish you a pleasant evening."

And with one last, inscrutable look at Amaryllis, he left. Amaryllis watched him turn and walk out of sight, before meeting her Uncle's narrowed eyes and melted smile with a nervous gulp.

"Get. In. _Side._"

She was in so much trouble.

**Notes: Extra word count makes up for being a day late, right?**

**2 November, 2013 CE**


	5. Chapter 5

"_If you think I'll sit around while you chip away my brain _  
_Listen I ain't foolin' and you'd better think again _  
_Out there is a fortune waitin' to be had _  
_You think I'll let it go you're mad _  
_You got another thing comin _

_"In this world we're livin' in we have our share of sorrow _  
_Answer now is don't give in, aim for a new tomorrow"_

Amaryllis had been right. She hadn't realized _how_ right, though. Her Uncle had dragged her inside, slamming the door behind him, and backed her into the wall, shouting at her for bringing attention to herself, demanding to know what in the hell _that freakish twat_ had been talking about a school.

Aunt Petunia had come in at that point, lips pursed and face pinched, while Dudley grinned maliciously behind her. She'd pulled Amaryllis up and dragged her by her arm to sit in a chair in the kitchen, demanding answers. The horse-faced woman's nails stung where they dug into her arms, and Amaryllis wondered is she'd need to nick a bandage for that later.

Unfortunately, Aunt Petunia hadn't liked the answers Amaryllis gave her. The words _freak, weirdo, _and _unnatural_ were bandied about a whole lot, and Aunt Petunia had slapped Amaryllis when the girl asked, angry and upset, why they hadn't told her she was a witch – her mother was one, after all, so didn't Aunt Petunia know?

Perhaps, though, the real mistake had been the second question Amaryllis asked. Was Aunt Petunia a witch, too? (When Aunt Petunia slapped her, her fingernails raked over Amaryllis' cheeks, one snagging over her eye, and Amaryllis winced, sure it would cause a welt or three.)

Not being _extraordinarily _clever_,_ Amaryllis kept asking questions.

What kept them from telling her? Why didn't they try to tell her? What if Dudley had a been a wizard? Would they have told her then? Why did the wizards know she lived in the cupboard under the stairs, anyway? Did they use magic to spy on people? Was that why they hadn't said anything? And how could that possibly help, anyway?

Dudley had been sent from the room with a box of ice cream bars very early on, and Aunt Petunia had shaken her, ordering her to say how she had found out about magic in the first place. Amaryllis hadn't wanted to tell them, but she wanted to be punished even less so.

So she lied. She said she had gotten a letter, but thrown it away, thinking it a fake. Then, she'd gone to the park this morning, when the Professor had approached her about the letters, and carted her off to Diagon, saying she had to go to Hogwarts. Her uncle had sneeringly asked how she planned to pay for it – with a scholarship?

Her relatives clearly doubted that idea.

But Amaryllis had lied, the words falling from her mouth with ease. The wizards, she explained, made attendance mandatory after a war ended ten years ago, where they were killing lots of non-magical people, so she had to go. She'd do a work study to pay it off while she attended. Not much different from life now (but she didn't voice that last). If she didn't want to go, they said they'd use magic to make her.

The Dursleys hadn't tried to tell her she couldn't go after that, and Aunt Petunia had left to go check up on her _poor darling popkin_, after his having to put up with _such freakish nonsense._ Uncle Vernon had been perfectly free to express how angry he was.

Amaryllis had sat, very still, upon that chair for what felt like hours before her Uncle was done shouting, and was relieved when he dragged her roughly from the chair and sent her to her cupboard with only a few bruises, mostly on her shoulders, her upper arms, where he'd gripped and shaken her, and her shins, where she'd been kicked.

Most of them weren't really visible, anyway, so that was okay – it meant she wouldn't be locked away for a long time. Uncle Vernon slammed the door behind him as he stormed into the kitchen to get a drink, giving her a vicious snarl as he passed. _And don't you dare show your freakish face to me or my family for the next __**week**__!_

Amaryllis had pulled her trunk into the cupboard with her, propping it on the side, pushing it as far from the door as she could. It made the cupboard far more cramped than it had been, the ceiling closer, but Amaryllis didn't mind. Nursing her bumps, her bruises, and her sore head (Uncle Vernon liked to pull her hair when he was angry), she hatched a plan.

She would leave, and they wouldn't be able to stop her.

That night, she curled up on her baby mattress, under her blanket, and not even the sound of her Uncle untwisting her light bulb, or locking the cupboard door, or the feel of his shoe kicking her as she supposedly slept beside her trunk before he left could upset her – this was the last night she'd be there, after all.

When, half an hour later, her Aunt and Uncle came downstairs to talk in the kitchen,she heard them plan what to tell the neighbors – that the Professor had been her _boyfriend_ of all things, and that her _gallivanting around like her slag mother_ was the cause of the shouting that night – and Amaryllis staunchly refused to care. She was never coming back again. It did not matter.

It didn't.

Really.

_No._

She stayed awake for hours, listening to the sounds of the house as it went quiet. When a few hours passed, Amaryllis felt around for the torch she had hidden in the back, under the lowest stairs. Rubbing the knot on her head where it had bumped against her trunk, Amaryllis watched the torch flicker to life, and began gathering her things.

It took some maneuvering, but the girl managed to get her trunk flat on the ground, clamber over it, and open the lid without making enough noise to rouse her… to rouse the Dursleys. They didn't even count as relatives, she thought mulishly, as she wrapped her treasures into her best treasure of all, her blanket. She'd had it since before she came to the Dursleys. The awful, horrid Dursleys.

Relatives were supposed to _care_, she thought with a scowl, not… not be like them. With a sigh, Amaryllis cradled the last of her treasures – a brightly colored sun catcher made in art class two years ago, with pretty, bright colors, not awful streaky browns like Dudley's had mixed into – and tucked it into her trunk.

Amaryllis was tired now, but determined to stay awake. She nibbled on a cereal bar that had been tucked away in the corner, and gulped down some water, skimming over the 'Transport' pamphlet. Tucking them both away, too, Amaryllis took a deep breath.

It was now or never. She crawled off of her trunk and pressed her hand to the door, as she must've done a thousand times before when she was hungry or had desperately, desperately needed the loo. Concentrating on the lock, Amaryllis strained to hear it move for a minute before finally hearing the metal slide up and over with a faint _click._

She was free.

Grinning, Amaryllis, quietly pulled her trunk out of the cupboard under the stairs, and closed the door. Creeping over to the end table across the hall, where Aunt Petunia's fake flowers, the bowl for Uncle Vernon's keys and loose change and the pad of paper they both used to write down important reminders on lay, Amaryllis picked up the pen beside the glass vase of flowers and wrote her message to the Dursleys.

'_Petunia, Vernon and Dudley – _

_I'm leaving. _

_Don't bother looking for me, because none of us want me here, and you wouldn't be able to, anyway. I can get away from you now, and we never have to see each other again. You can't make me come back, even if you wanted to try. _

_So I hope you like your house without me, because I'm never coming back here. It's not home and it never has been, and it won't be ever, either. Good riddance to bad rubbish, and__ have a horrid life._

_You are NOT my family anymore, and you better be happy about that, because I hate all of you. _

_So there._

- _The __**Freak**_'

Gulping and oddly elated, Amaryllis dropped the pen silently and slipped out the door, trunk once more in hand. She was gone! She was never going back! Yes! She scurried down the pavement as quickly as she could, tugging on her trunk until she reached the park.

Looking around nervously, she put out her wand hand, and concentrated very hard on needing the Knight Bus. She didn't have a wand yet, but the pamphlet said the Knight Bus was a common way for Splinched people and young children to get back to where they ought to be after Portkey accidents and the like, and they wouldn't have wands. So, she figured, her hand would do, wouldn't it?

Just as she became sure that she'd messed it all up, and that she would have to drag her trunk to the train station and hope a policeman didn't find her and try and take her back to the Dursley's, and she began to pull her hand back, desperately wishing the bus would just _be there_ already – it was.

BANG!

The Knight bus appeared in a wall of purple, and Amaryllis tripped backward in her shock. It was there! Right there! She fell onto the lid of her trunk and watched a short little man in a moth-eaten three piece suit (was that a velvet vest?) hop down and begin reading a speech, after a short glance at his pocket watch.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch of wizard. Just stick out your wand 'and, step on board, an' we can take you anywheres you want to go. My name is Bartholomew Wilkes, an' I will be your conductor for this evening. Please state yo – oi, what choo doin', sitting on your trunk? You not getting on or somefink?"

Amaryllis blinked rapidly and shook her head. "N-no; I've just never called up the Knight Bus before, that's all. It was a bit of a shock."

The little man's suspicious face softened and he nodded, eying the achy, darkening handprint bruise and scratches from Petunia on Amaryllis' cheek with sympathy. "Not a problem at all. Get aboard, there's a lass," he said softly, helping her up with surprising strength for someone so small. Then again, Amaryllis thought, she shouldn't let looks deceive her – she was the smallest person in her year at school, and she was wicked fast.

"How – How much is it to get to London? The Leaky Cauldron, I mean?" she asked cautiously, lifting a hand to cover her bruise, embarrassed. The man smiled and helped her pull her trunk aboard before answering.

"Eleven sickles," he said matter-of-factually. "For firteen you gets an 'ot chocolate, an' for fifteen you gets an 'ot water bottle an' a toofbrush in the color o' your choice. An' for sixteen," he added with a wry grin, "you can 'ave the 'ot chocolate _an'_ the toofbrush."

Amaryllis smiled, and dug through her skirt pocket to find the money. "Fourteen… fifteen… sixteen!" she counted happily, handing the money over. "Thank you so much," she added as Bartholomew handed her a purple toothbrush and chocolate, but the little man waved he thanks off.

"Now, none o' tha'!" he exclaimed. "Jus' doin' me job, is all. 'Appy to lend a 'and." He gave her a pointed look. "'Sides, lass like you, looks like you needed 'elp." Amaryllis turned pink and ducked her head as Bartholomew called to the driver to start the bus.

Five loud BANGs later, and the Knight Bus stopped in front of the Leaky Cauldron. "'Ere we are, Miss," Bartholomew said, walking over to get her trunk. He waved his wand and it floated down from the overhead rack. He followed Amaryllis down the steps and onto the pavement, shaking her hand and whispering,

"Ask ol' Tom for student 'ousing. It ain't uncommon for a few o' yous to need it, for the hols. Jus' a galleon for the night, you can make as much 'elping as a shop assistant or a floor sweep 'round the Alley. Jus' don' try getting no job at Borgin an' Burkes – ol' Burke is a nasty bit o' work, no matter 'ow much 'e offers, you mark tha'. An' I'll tell you now, he never pays you, neither." Nodding firmly to her, Bartholomew stepped back onto the Bus, and with a final, sixth BANG, it was gone.

Amaryllis turned on her heel to face the building. This was it. Squaring her shoulders, she walked inside the dingy building, breathing a sigh of relief when she realized that it was mostly empty. Tom, the innkeeper, stood behind the bar polishing a glass, and two elderly witches gossiped at a table in the back, while a sandy-haired wizard in patched-up clothes was falling asleep with a book in front of the fire.

She smiled to herself. She'd done it. She was doing it. Smile widening, she strode over to the bar, her trunk scraping along behind her, and was pleased to see Tom return the smile.

"What can I do for you, Miss?" he asked pleasantly, setting cup and rag down.

"Could I get a room, please?" she asked. "Erm, student housing, I mean?" Tom's cheery face fell, and he seemed to notice Amaryllis' cheek with sad eyes. The eleven year old hunched her shoulders and tried to hide it behind her hand. The welts stung.

And then he straightened, becoming the welcoming barkeep once more. "Right away, Miss," he said, pulling out a ledger. "Rooms are paid for daily, weekly, monthly, or all in one go. You'll be wanting to stay up to September First, I take it?" Amaryllis nodded. "How much can you pay for now, then?"

Amaryllis dug into pocket and pulled out the last of the money she'd gotten with the Professor that morning. One gold galleon, three silver sickles, and just over a dozen little bronze knuts. "Erm, just the first night, for now, please," she said softly, handing him the galleon. Tom nodded, and handed the ledger over.

"You'll be room S8, just sign your name beside it, yeah?"

"My – full name, sir?" she asked. Tom shook his head. What if her relatives found her or someone tried to take her back to them?

"Any name will do, just pick something you'll answer to, and don't take the name of someone you know, hm?" he eyed her, that sad expression finding its way onto his face again. "You aren't the Leaky's first runaway, Miss, and I doubt you'll be the last. Just sign a name for yourself and I'll show you up, alright?"

A little calmer now that she was certain the Dursleys couldn't find her by having a witch or wizard – unlikely as that was – check for her, Amaryllis took the quill that was offered and signed beside her room number. _Rilly Jones_, Room S8. Just re-sign each night or whatever when she paid. She gave Tom a tremulous smile, which he returned.

Tom muttered a spell that had her trunk in the air, floating behind the two of them, and led her up several flights of stairs and two hallways before reaching the student hall. There were a little over a dozen rooms there, she noticed, and they seemed to be on the very top floor, because the window at the end of the corridor was looking out over the Leaky's roof.

Amaryllis' room was almost at the very end of the hall, and she loved it. Worn wooden floors and plaster walls led to a window with a large diamond pattern intersecting the glass panes, and there was a door to the bathroom on the far right wall. She looked back at Tom with a thankful smile, and took her room key from him. He began to walk out, but stopped barely out of the doorway.

"Miss?" he asked, looking back. "How old _are_ you, if I may ask?"

"Eleven, sir," she said, pulling her hair toward her face nervously to cover the bruise there. "My – my relatives are Muggles. They didn't much like magic," she hastened to explain, hoping he didn't decide she was too young to rent a room. But Tom only nodded.

"You may want to ask old Nick Mulpepper about a job; he can always use runner between his two stores." He gave a wry grin. "Of course, the chance to rub in Jigger's face that he _has_ two stores doesn't come into that at all…" He shook his head, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Have good night, lass. Sleep tight."

"Good night, sir," Amaryllis said, seeing him off and locking the door behind him. She turned back to her room, drinking in the sight.

Baseboards, the same wood as the floor, a wood ceiling, the beams slanting upward toward the doorr with the pitch of the ceiling, except for where the wall stood up straight for the window…A wrought iron bed stuck out from the middle of the left wall, and there was a desk closer to her on the right. A wardrobe was just inside the door to the left. An overstuffed, threadbare and patched chair sat in a far corner, by the bedside table and a small bookshelf.

It was perfect. It was _hers._

…

My biggest concern here – does she sound eleven?

Well just remember to **EatYourRikkios!** Also, happy Friday. :-)

Okay... maybe this time it will publish. Sorry for the delay, guys! For some reason FFNet isn't letting me update this, even though my other work is updating just fine.

- Rikki

12 November, 2013


	6. Chapter 6

"_And it's alright, baby I'm doing the best that I can_  
_And I'm trying hard to change I'm doing it the best that I can_  
_Well because fate causes fortune and fortune takes it away_  
_Well it's alright, baby I'm doing the best that I can"_

Amaryllis woke up unfortunately early the next morning, as was her habit, and promptly threw herself back onto her pillow and covered her eyes with her arms.

That didn't do her any good. Drat. The sun was rising, streaming in through the window and filling her room with light. She couldn't get back to sleep. Grumbling to herself, Amaryllis trudged out of bed. It was probably a good thing, though. She still had to unpack he stuff and change he clothes. She sniffed her sleeve cautiously, pulling a face. She'd fallen asleep in her clothes last night. She _really _needed to change.

She probably should start unpacking now, since she thought of it. It was the fifth of July, so she had a whole two months before school started. May as well get comfortable.

It didn't take long to hang her few clothes and school uniform in the wardrobe, and she only had a few books, two old story books Marlee had given her, and a book of Greek Mythology Dudley had thrown out his window, saying it was stupid and boring.

Other than that, the second shelf was half full with sheet music, bound with staples, old binders, and in more than one case, string. A few toys filled the second half, tony figurines Dudley had grown bored of after his 'Knights and Kings' fantasy phase had ended, a doll, a Barbie.

A careworn Paddington bear with mismatched button eyes sat on her bed, and the sun catcher was hung carefully in the window. Amaryllis tilted it a little, so that the yellow sun rays streaming past the blue circle were straight. All she needed now was to buy a few candles to see by at night.

This brought Amaryllis to a pause. She could probably get whatever she needed from the money her Mum and Dad had left her. But as soon as she thought of it, her Uncle's face popped up in her mind, sneering that her kind always had a bad end, living on the dole, a drain to society, just like her drunken, freaky parents.

Which they weren't. She knew that now. But – she didn't want to end up like the Dursley's always said she would. What if she accidentally spent everything, and couldn't go to Hogwarts anymore after fifth year? Would she have to go back to the Dursleys?

The money in the vault had looked like a lot, sure, but how much did Hogwarts cost? Amaryllis didn't want to just – wreck everything. She didn't want Vernon and Petunia to be right, and end up some 'lazy slag on the dole like your mother' had supposedly been. Or a drunk, like her dad.

They _weren't,_ they hadn't been, but still. That wasn't really the point.

What had Tom said the night before? About a job as a shop runner? He'd said to talk to Nick Mulpepper… the name was vaguely familiar, though Amaryllis wasn't sure from where. Maybe she'd seen his shop on the Alley the day before? It must be that, then.

Certain of herself, now, Amaryllis changed into clean clothes – her new uniform shirt and a shrunken pair of Dudley's old jeans from when he was small(-ish) – and headed down to the main room below. Tom stood behind the bar again, making Amaryllis wonder if he had slept at all. The man that had been nodding off in front of the fire was there too, reading the paper and drinking a coffee.

She saw now that his hair wasn't sandy, as she'd thought before, but a medium brown with liberal streaks of pale silver catching the light on his curls, making the rest of the hair seem lighter. He had a clean shaven face, except for a shaped moustache, and round eyebrows that made him look vaguely surprised at everything he saw. She was about to go up and ask Tom to let her into the Alley when the man noticed her.

"Tom," he called, getting the man's attention. "Tom, stop flirting with Eveline –" Tom and a pretty witch with auburn hair at the bar blushed "– you old hound. One of the student boarders is here. You need help getting into the Alley?" he asked. Amaryllis blinked, and nodded.

"How did you know?" she asked.

The man shrugged. "You're small, alone, and kept glancing at the Alley entrance. Not too hard to figure out. You realize you can do it yourself, don't you, though? Ministry Trace doesn't work in such a magic-dense area as this." Amaryllis remembered the Professor mentioning the Trace, saying she wasn't to use her wand out of school. She didn't realize she'd be able to on the Alley. She hadn't really thought about it at all, besides worrying about the Knight Bus. She smiled, and the man grinned back. He was very tall, she realized.

"I'm A – I'm Rilly," she said, stumbling over the introduction a bit. The man tipped his head and shook her had with a smile.

"Riley? Pretty name. Nick Mulpepper," he said pleasantly, and Amaryllis didn't bother to correct him on her name – it wasn't like it was her actual name, anyway, and Riley _did_ sound pretty. "I own the best Apothecary on the Alley. Are you getting your school things today?"

Amaryllis shook her head. "No, sir – but, Tom mentioned, last night, that you were looking for a runner between your two shops?" He looked at her doubtfully, and she hurried to convince him. "I'm very fast, and I'm good at maths, and I don't make much noise at all, I promise–"

"Okay."

"– I swear, you'd only know I was there because I'd be right in front of you doing what you said, and – what?"

"Okay," Nick repeated, shrugging. "You're hired. I'll show you both shops and have Elphie explain your duties. Just make sure to run into Archibald Jigger every now and again, would you? His puffed up pride could stand to be taken down a peg."

The child nodded, and followed him to his shop, paying attention but not really understanding as he rambled about honesty, ridiculous practices, and over pricing by his competition.

'Elphie,' as it turned out, was a shy witch in her early twenties with long black hair and dark green eyes. Her skin had a vaguely green tinge, which kept her from working in the main shop on Diagon – while she wasn't a Merrow, her mum was, and most people were averse to dealing with 'half-breeds' like her.

She was very kind for all that, and very passionate about non-wizards, who weren't viewed well by most people, and especially campaigned for the expansion of various non-human Creature and Being rights. She was very clever, and her extraordinary skill with magic and plants caused Nick to take her as his apprentice.

Amaryllis was glad Elphie was there – almost as soon as they walked through the shop door, the apothecary was inundated with customers, and Nick really had no chance at all to explain to her what she would be doing. Elphie showed her around the shop front quickly, then the back store room, where most of the work was done.

The back room was where plant and animal parts were rendered for ingredients, herbs dried, potions brewed, and various things bottled, canned, grown in windows and preserved. Some potions were brewed in the basement, where Mulpepper had a lab set up, but most of the things they sold – burn salves, bruise pastes, vitamin tinctures – were alright to brew anywhere, instead of needing a specialized environment. That was reserved for things like Polyjuice, Blood Replenishing Potions and Antidotes.

After that Elphie showed Amaryllis how to get to Knockturn Alley from the back door by going down the stairs and round the corner, and showed her the shop there, too. The older girl even waited outside Gambol and Jape's while Amaryllis ran inside to pick up her telescope on their lunch break.

Amaryllis's job was rather simple: she would be running ingredients and finished products between the two apothecaries, and take messages between Elphie at the Knockturn shop and Nick at the Diagon one. She would also carry notes to other shop owners as needed, and was to do so as quickly as possible. Elphie had commended her clothing choice, suggesting that she get a cloak, however, if she kept wearing Muggle things. _They're practical, Riley, but you stand out as much as I do_.

Until she could afford one, Elphie offered to lend Amaryllis her faded sage colored summer cloak during the day, while she tended to the Knockturn apothecary. The younger girl happily accepted, and only needed a little help figuring out how to wear it without choking herself on the hood strings.

Things were going well, Amaryllis decided. She was busy most of the time, but Nick paid her two galleons a day, and she sometimes was able to earn a whole galleon more running notes for other shop keeps or people on the street, normally for a knut or two each. She had to be quick, so she got back to the apothecary when she was supposed to, but he'd always been speedy, thanks to Dudley and his gang.

When she wasn't running things for people, she was learning a lot. Nick liked to point out how to work with different types of people when she was nearby, and Elphie taught her to brew and bottle a few basic potions. She also learned a lot about the different plants and other ingredients just by handling them – Elphie and Nick certainly warned her often enough when she was carrying dangerous ones.

Even better than that, Elphie had promised to take her to get her own cloak and a day robe, soon! Amaryllis had almost fifteen galleons saved up, now, and she was thankful for it. She likely wouldn't have so much, but Nick let her and Elphie have some of the food he kept in the back at lunches in exchange for not actually having a lunch break most days.

The Saturday after Amaryllis' third week on the Alley dawned bright and, admittedly, cloudy. Nick had strong-armed his sixteen year old grandson into watching the Knockturn shop for the day, and had admitted he could go without Amaryllis 'just the once' while she and Elphie had the day off together.

So, when Elphie had knocked on Amaryllis' door at the Leaky Cauldron early that morning, glamor on her skin in place, Amaryllis only had to dash to the mirror to smudge a bit of Muggle makeup over her scar before tying her hair up in a long braid and greeting her friend with a smile.

"Ready to go?" Elphie asked, hiding a grin behind her hand at Amaryllis' excited bouncing from foot to foot.

"Yes!" the tiny girl replied, and went to stride out the door, promptly tripping over the threshold. Elphie caught her with a laugh, and the two giggled for a moment before walking down the stairs, chatting as they did. They stopped to buy a bit of fruit from the grocer's for breakfast, and afterward had the entire day in front of them.

"Where are we going first?" Amaryllis asked, looking around the Alley in curiosity. A few shop keeps and assistants waved at the duo as they passed, recognising them as 'Old Nick's girls.' Amaryllis waved wildly back.

Elphie considered for a moment. "Well," she said slowly, "We need to get your robes, and a cloak at the very least. I need to get another potions journal, because I've nearly filled mine. And Nick accidentally used my July copy of _The Practical Potioneer_ to light a fire while he was brewing on Thursday." She gave Amaryllis a sly look. "Of course, Archie Jigger's featured article about that 'exclusive' wart concoction of his had nothing to do with it."

Amaryllis snickered. "_Right_. And I'm sure he wasn't muttering about guilds and greed or the Thames at _all,_ right?"

"I can neither confirm nor deny that comment, young lady," Elphie said in a mock stern voice. "Don't you know not to nose around about your superiors like that?"

The two girls held eye contact for a moment before bursting into giggles. "Okay, so charity shop first, and then we buy your journal at Scribe and Tomes'?" Amaryllis clarified, glancing over at the stationary shop as she did so.

Biting her lip for a moment, Elphie nodded. "That sounds fine," she said. "Let's go to Parsimonious' and get your robes, then."

Not being in any real hurry, the two didn't exactly rush to the other end of Diagon to get Amaryllis' robes. Instead, they spent a lot of time window shopping, ooh-ing and ahh-ing over the things on display. Lunascopes and augery quills – the dress robes in Twilfitt and Tatting's! It was all so interesting, and Elphie liked to point things out and explain what they did to her.

Amaryllis only had to be dragged away from one shop, though, which surprised her. Eeylop's Owl Emporium had the most beautiful snowy owl outside, and the girl spent almost twently minutes cooing over the thing and stroking it's feathers.

Eventually Elphie _had_ to put her foot down and drag her away – the bird was five whole galleons, and they didn't know how much her robes would cost, because Widow Ebberly kept changing the prices of everything, including her robes. _They might be ridiculous this week, Riley, so wait until after we've gotten them before buying a familiar. She won't be going anywhere if she's really yours._ Pouting, Amaryllis had followed her for the rest of the way to Parsimonious Place to buy robes.

The charity shop was... haphazard, to say the least. There was no real order to anything inside, but upon seeing the sign hanging from the ceiling, words scrawling as if being written by an invisible hand, Amaryllis found she honestly didn't care. Single Sickle Saturday. Everything in the store was a sickle.

Amaryllis and Elphie turned to look at each other, equally large grins on both their faces. "I love Widow Ebberly," Amaryllis breathed. The elderly woman cackled from the front counter to their left, making both girls jump, but otherwise ignored them as they went through the place, looking for clothes and other things.

It was a slight surprise to Amaryllis that the shop had Muggle clothes as well as wizarding styles, but on further reflection, wasn't surprised. She was sure Muggleborns, at the very least, must donate clothes, and she knew it wasn't uncommon among younger people to wear Muggle styles under cloaks or light robes. As Elphie said, they tended to be more practical than the flowing, long robes that were standard wear.

Four hours later, the sun was straining to reach its zenith, and the two witches were walking out of Parsimonious' with a bag each, both several galleons lighter. Amaryllis had mostly stuck to buying clothes, getting a few pairs of denims, some skirts, shirts and blouses. She even, to Elphie's surprise, had bought two dresses, one knee length and the other barely above the floor. _I never took you as a dress person_, the older witch had shrugged.

Which, admittedly, was true. Amaryllis was unused to wearing dresses, having only ever been tied into a frilly yellow monstrosity on Sundays by her Aunt to go to church, or else wearing that awful sundress when nothing else was even vaguely clean.

Even then, since the day Dudley tripped her and she knocked a candle over, setting the altar cloth on fire, the Dursleys almost never took her to church with them. So Amaryllis just wasn't used to them. But, she reasoned, if she would be wearing robes most of the time, anyway, why not a dress or two?

Of course, Amaryllis hadn't been able to resist a few books of music and a curious sort of piano thing. It was more akin to a keyboard in form, just a thick bolt of canvas a few feet long, with raised blocks for the keys. To Amaryllis' surprise, it sounded exactly like a grand piano. There were even a set of enchanted peddles to go with it. The music loving girl hadn't been able to resist, and bought them both. She had missed playing music so _much_ since leaving Surrey! Only singing just wasn't the same.

Elphie had mostly bought things for her flat above Mulpepper's Knockturn apothecary. A few bolts of cloth, some dishware, a pretty candelabra. That sort of thing didn't really interest Amaryllis, who, while calling it home for now, didn't see the point in getting 'finishing touches' for her room at the Leaky when she'd be at school all year, anyway. But Elphie was happy with what she'd gotten, so Amaryllis was happy for her.

She still didn't get the tablecloth and bedsheets Elphie suggested, though.

They both bought a few papers at the newsstand on the way to Scribe and Tome's to get Elphie's new journal, and Amaryllis finally got to see her owl again when they passed in front of Eeylop's on their way back to the Leaky for lunch. Catching the bird's warm gold eyes, Amaryllis just _had_ to have her. She handed Elphie her bag and came out not even ten minutes later, bag of owl treats and wooden bird stand grasped firmly in hand, with the other hand stroked the bird on her shoulder, currently nuzzling her cheek.

"I'm not sure what I'll name her yet," Amaryllis said happily, nuzzling the bird back. "I was thinking maybe Hedwig, after the lady in my History textbook. Do you like that name, Hedwig?" Hedwig barked happily and Amaryllis laughed. Elphie smiled and handed the girl back her bag.

This was a good day.

…

Notes: I don't want to say this is filler-y, since it's a setup for future events, but... Yeah. I like it though. Who can guess where I got the inspiration for Elphie from? Anybody?

At any rate, I hope you've all liked this, and remember to **EatYourRikkios!**

5:45 PM 15 November, 2013 CE


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